


Ziggy Played Guitar

by littlewitch34



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: David Bowie is Important, F/M, Other, Ripper!Giles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewitch34/pseuds/littlewitch34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance chat about music with Oz reminds Giles of something that happened forever and a day ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ziggy Played Guitar

Giles recognizes the song, soft, on a hum. He knows it's Oz, curled up in the book cage, naked and shivering, the morning after a full moon, on a Saturday morning. Giles lets himself into the library to bring Oz a blanket, pass him the change of clothing in a bag, stored behind Giles' desk, and let the boy out of the book cage. Without thinking, Giles starts to hum along to the song, too. It was Bowie, and Giles had definitely figured Oz would be the kind of boy who was more into the angry, aggressive bands that Giles had heard on the radio sometimes, when skipping through different channels.

 

“You listen to Bowie?” Oz's voice cuts through the library. Giles belatedly realizes that Oz had stopped humming nearly a minute ago, and he's carried on the tune by himself.

 

“A lifetime ago, I suppose,” Giles says wryly. He unlocks the book cage and pushes in a blanket and Oz's backpack so the boy can dress himself. “How are you feeling?”

  
  
Oz grins. “Like I just turned into a bloodthirsty beast overnight. So all in all... I could use some food.”

 

Giles smiles and nods a little. “Then you're just like every other teenage boy.”

 

“I can't imagine you as a ravenous teenage boy, packing away a whole pizza on your own,” Oz teases. When Giles looks up at him, Oz is dressed in jeans and a faded, torn t-shirt, 'The Clash' across the front in bold letters.

 

“It was usually terrible take-away Chinese,” Giles corrects softly. He's got out his little electric kettle to make tea.

 

“Bad Chinese and Bowie. Sounds like my Saturday nights,” Oz cracks. He sits down at one of the study tables and slides on his socks and sneakers, lacing them up. “So, glam rock? Had you pegged for classical.”

 

“I can appreciate a good Chopin every once in a while,” Giles jokes. He sets a mug down in front of Oz, a teabag dropped into the water. “Here. I don't have much in the way of food, I'm afraid.”

 

He finds it easier to speak with Oz, sometimes, than it is to speak with any of the other 'Scoobies.' Buffy argues, Willow gets excited and agitated quickly, Xander is sometimes too preoccupied with other thoughts. Giles sometimes misunderstands the slang terms they use. Oz is different. Oz is a little more observational, a little less speaking-before-thinking. Giles appreciates it; the other teenagers, like teenagers do, blurt things out without thinking about them first. Giles knows he did the same when he was their age, and even older, but now it irritates him, gets under his skin a bit, though he rarely lets it show. Oz, though, sometimes seems older than the others. Giles still feels ancient beside Oz, but they can at least communicate without Giles feeling so _lost_ or ignored, like he sometimes does with Buffy. When Giles speaks, he feels like Oz is genuinely listening, and it strikes Giles as bizarre, given his observations that the general population of Sunnydale is neither listening, nor observant at all.

 

“But Bowie,” Oz says, trying to bring the conversation back around to music. Oz can talk music all day and night, for weeks on end. Devon can keep up sometimes, but it's never quite the same. “You're a fan? I know you have vinyl somewhere in your house. Don't you?”

 

Giles can't help but smile. “Tucked away somewhere might be a few records.”

 

“Got a favorite?” Oz keeps his usual cool demeanor, but Giles can see something sparking in the boy's eyes, excited by this new discovery of Giles' past that he's let slip. Giles doesn't speak much about his teenage and young adult years, and while most of the teens of Sunnydale High School assume he was born into tweed diapers, Oz knows there's something else there. Hearing Giles hum 'Suffragette City' backs that thought up.

 

Giles shrugs. “Well... I was always rather partial to Diamond Dogs, though I consider it difficult to like Bowie without loving Ziggy Stardust.” It's been _years_ since he's spoken about anything like this at all, but he finds himself slipping into the conversation subject easily.

 

“Ah, man, everyone gets on me because I like the greatest hits, but Ziggy is _awesome_ ,” Oz says, a huge smile on his face.

 

The smile takes Giles back to a place he's been trying to forget for decades.

 

_The record is playing loud, on a stolen player. The record, too, is stolen. A dark-haired boy lines his eyes with an eyeliner pencil, of course, snitched from Boots the night before. As he rims his eyes with the dark pencil, he's singing, “Ziggy played guitar, jammin' good with Weird and Gilly, and the Spiders from Mars. He played it left hand, but made it too far... became the special man, then we were Ziggy's band.”_

 

_Another boy chimes in just after, moving in behind the first boy, to watch him in the mirror. “Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes, and screwed down hairdo, like some Cat from Japan. He could lick 'em by smiling, he could leave 'em to hang.” His hand creeps over the other boy's hip, moving in slow toward his crotch. “He came on so loaded, man._ _**Well hung** _ _and snow white tan.” He smirks, emphasizing a few choice words in the line._

 

“ _Ethan!” the first boy groans, swatting at Ethan's hand, where it settled on his crotch. “Not now, we're going to be late.”_

 

“ _You are seriously_ no fun _, Ripper,” Ethan purrs, nuzzling into Ripper's neck. “Seriously.”_

 

“ _Some of us don't consider arriving hours late to be fashionable, like you, lazy arse,” Ripper mutters, as he musses his hair just so. He glances over his shoulder, to the bed, where his leather jacket lays, just waiting for him to slip it on._

 

_Ethan palms Ripper's ass as he sings along with the song, still blaring from the record player. “... with God-given ass... he took it all too far, but boy, could he play guitar.”_

 

“ _I know you much you love my arse. Don't mean you need to serenade it,” Ripper teases._

 

“ _I do a_ lot _of things to that arse, Rupe. None of them are serenading,” Ethan teases back. Ripper leans in and kisses Ethan, if only to quiet him for a moment or two._

 

“Giles?” Oz asks. It jars Giles from the memory.

 

“Sorry,” Giles mumbles softly, looking up at a shelf of books in the stacks.

 

“It's alright.” Oz pats Giles' hand lightly. “Thanks for the tea. I should get going. You know, home to sleep... again. In a bed. Or something. I'll see you later. Thanks again.”

 

“You're...” The words don't even make it out of Giles' mouth before Oz is halfway out the library doors.

 

Giles rides home with the radio off, and once he gets back, he makes another cup of tea. Instead of going right for a book, he pauses by a closet, and pulls out a box that's been locked away for years. He's surprised he allowed it to survive the move to Sunnydale. After carefully moving the box into his living room, he pulls one very specific record out of the box, and sets it up on his turntable. He drops the needle down and closes his eyes. His head tilts back onto the couch, and he listens to the opening strains of 'Ziggy Stardust,' lost in his thoughts.


End file.
